


Collection of Patrochilles Shorts

by CrazyCranberry



Category: The Song of Achilles - Madeline Miller
Genre: Alternate Ending, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Magic, Ancient Greece, Angst, Fluff and Angst, Gen, M/M, Modern Setting Retelling of Ancient Greek Religion & Lore, References to Ancient Greek Religion & Lore, Teenage Dorks, Teenagers, Trojan War, adding chapters as I write them!, oblivious dorks, they're both dorks
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-30
Updated: 2021-02-11
Packaged: 2021-02-27 13:08:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 7,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22037560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrazyCranberry/pseuds/CrazyCranberry
Summary: A collection of Patrochilles one-shots.
Relationships: Achilles & Patroclus (Song of Achilles), Achilles/Patroclus (Song of Achilles), Briseis & Patroclus (Song of Achilles)
Comments: 63
Kudos: 251





	1. "Morning."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I agreed to marry you, you..." Patroclus said, cheeks a vibrant crimson and Achilles' smile began to crumple.

“Morning.”

“Morning,” Patroclus muttered, shuffling into the living room. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes, pulling his robe tighter across his chest to keep out the chill. The cotton was soft, softer than anything he’d ever owned--a birthday gift from Achilles. It made him want to crawl back into bed, soak up the warmth still lingering in the sheets... But the smell of coffee had lured him from their room. Achilles was awake earlier than was normal, sitting curled in the armchair by the fireplace. He wore a pair of loose fitting sweats, t-shirt stretched tight across his chest.

He’d look up briefly when Patroclus had entered, shooting him a small smile. A book was strewn across his lap, one hand pressed to the pages to follow the words, the other tapping a beat against his knee. It was...strange, to say the least. Achilles had taken to sleeping in on weekends since they’d moved in together, well over a year ago. He was rarely up before nine and if he was, he never remembered to make coffee. He’d make his breakfast, put the kettle on for tea, and go for a run. To see him up and about before six, poorly pretending to read a book (his finger hadn’t moved in the minutes Patroclus spent staring), with a fresh pot of coffee brewing in the kitchen was strange. And he’d never dare admit it, but Patroclus had grown used to his good morning kiss so he wasn’t the biggest fan of this new, _strange_ routine.

“Are you...alright?” he asked, slowly inching his way toward the kitchen.

“I’m fine, love,” Achilles said, waving him away. There was another smile in his voice and Patroclus may have melted a bit inside as he finally went to retrieve his favorite mug from the drainboard. He took the loveseat across from Achilles after grabbing a muffin from the kitchen counter--he’d need to thank Briseis again. Setting his mug down on the end table, he took a bite of the pastry, crumbs tumbling down his chin. His eyes drifted to the bay window and the curtains, usually left open overnight, were drawn shut. That’s when he heard it. The smallest of laughs in the back of Achilles’ throat, almost a giggle if his voice could pitch that high.

Patroclus narrowed his eyes and leaned forward, watching as the blonde coughed to hold back another non-giggle. “What?” Patroclus asked, and Achilles finally looked up, golden hair falling askew across his forehead. Patroclus’s fingers itched to run hands through it; brush it back.

“Nothing, nothing,” he said, finally casting aside the book. His smile was bright as a dying star, mischief dancing in his eyes. His teeth sunk into the plump skin of his bottom lip, rose giving way to white.

“What did you do?” Patroclus asked, equal parts suspicious and excited. Every day was an adventure with Achilles and his surprises were either very good, or very bad.

“Well…” Achilles drawled, standing up painfully slow and reaching out a hand to Patroclus. Patroclus hesitated for a moment before taking it. Achilles pulled him close, chest to chest, arms wrapped around Patroclus’s back in a tight embrace. “It’s really hot today.” That wasn’t what Patroclus had been expecting to hear––wouldn’t have guessed that if someone paid him to.

“...It’s summer. It tends to get hot,” he replied, tucking a stray lock of hair behind Achilles ear. He was confused but endeared.

“Yes, pretty humid, too,” Achilles said, slowly pulling Patroclus over to the window.

“Humid, too,” Patroclus laughed, as they finally came to a stop in front of the window, Achilles reaching out to grab the hem of the curtain.

“One could almost says that it’s... _muggy_?” Achilles asked before wrenching back the curtain to reveal the lawn. It took a minute for Patroclus to register what he was seeing but...nope, he was definitely seeing what he was seeing. All of their mugs were arranged on the lawn in the shape of a heart. Every single mug they owned, saved for the one behind them, was sitting on their dewey, muddy grass. At a loss for words, he turned to his fiancé, gesturing mutely from him to the lawn and back again. “It’s _muggy_ outside! Do you get it?” Achilles said, so proud of his genius that he was actually glowing. He was a sun orbiting his own shitty joke.

“Oh my gods,” Patroclus said, storming away to the laundry room to get a basket. He breathed deep to stop the impending fit of laughter, cheeks flushing with the effort. “I’m going to need to wash all of those mugs on a Saturday morning––”

“Babe?” Achilles called, chasing after him.

“I agreed to marry you, a _pun_ lover!” Patroclus fumed, tossing the dirty laundry onto the floor. He turned, basket clutched in a white-knuckled grip to see Achilles practically vibrating in the entry-way. He was uncertain if Patroclus was really mad, smile dimming as Patroclus glared on in silence.

“...Pat?”

“I agreed to marry you, you…” Patroclus said, cheeks a vibrant crimson and Achilles smile began to crumple. “You ridiculous, goofy, unbearably sweet, greek god of man!” Patroclus’ facade had broken by the time Achilles swooped in for a kiss, hands reaching up to cradle the sides of Patroclus’s face.

“So you thought it was funny?” Achilles asked, pulling back for a breath. His eyes were emeralds, brilliant as sunshine, smile bright and sharp with relief. Patroclus would do anything to bask in the weight of the happiness that covered them now.

“A real life comedian,” he sighed, leaning in for one last kiss before shoving the basket into Achilles hands. “But you’re going to go get those before our neighbors are up. I don’t need them wondering what other weird things we do with our mugs.”

“But if it’s muggy, I can’t pass up-–” Achilles began, only to be chased from the room by Patroclus who swatted after him with a stray t-shirt. “I love you!” he yelled, booking a hasty retreat outside.

“I love you, too!” Patroclus shouted with a laugh. “Always,” he muttered, watching Achilles through the window before going to check if any of their other dishes were missing. The last thing he needed was for their knives to line the sidewalk because there’d been some particularly _sharp_ gusts of wind...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was written for the tumblr prompt: Who says "it's muggy outside" after putting all the mugs on the front lawns and who threatens to leave them for saying that?
> 
> I've been on a Greek history kick for a while and just finished The Song of Achilles and Circe by Madeleine Miller which are PHENOMENAL. This was just a modern Patrochilles drabble!
> 
> As always, any feedback/comments are greatly appreciated. Thank you for reading!*


	2. All My Love Could Never Bring You Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He’d never been more terrified than when he’d looked out the backdoor to see Achilles lying motionless in the grass.

“Hey, hey take it easy,” Patroclus soothed, coaxing Achilles back down against the pillows. “You hit your head--got a real nasty concussion.” Achilles’ eyes swung wildly around the room before settling on Patroclus. “I told you not to try to fix the roof by yourself but did you listen? No.” Patroclus sat back in the flimsy hospital chair, running his hands through his hair in exasperation.

Achilles remained silent, eyes tracing and retracing every plane of the face before him--stubble laden jaw, smattering of tan freckles across a sharp nose, plump lips pulled tight in worry, dark skin sallow in fluorescent lighting. “I almost got it,” Achilles muttered, voice hollow. His tone immediately had Patroclus on high alert, concern lighting anew. He sounded more out of it than the doctor said he would be.

“You did, but you also fell off the ladder and onto your annoyingly dense head,” Patroclus said, trying for humor but falling short. His voice was still rough with tears so the quip didn’t quite hit like it was supposed to. In his defense it’d been a long day--he was exhausted, emotions striking too many highs and lows in such a short period of time. He’d never been more terrified than when he’d looked out the backdoor to see Achilles lying motionless in the grass. He’d screamed himself hoarse trying to wake him, gone numb as he waited for the ambulance to arrive. The sweet rush of relief as the doctor confirmed it was only a concussion: _“No lasting damage...plenty of rest...he’ll be fine.”_

“I had a dream,” Achilles said, bringing Patroclus back to the present. His voice was still hollow, blank expression morphing into something sad--something ugly. The color was all but drained from his face, golden skin paling.

“About what?” Patroclus asked, grasping Achilles’ hand a little tighter, scooting the chair closer to the bed.

“Us,” Achilles said, and after a minute of silence Patroclus thought that was the end of it, his brows drawn in confusion.

“Okay––”

“We were...fighting for something. I can’t remember what but I had this...this armor on and we were outside a city and there were bodies everywhere and...and it was so hot, I could _smell_ them--”

“It was just a dream,” Patroclus said, trying to reassure him, to calm him down. Tears began to well in Achilles’ eyes, breath hitching.

“No, no, it felt so _real_ and we, there was a plan where you’d wear my armor and pretend to be _me_ , it was so fucking stupid, Pat, so stupid but we did it and--”

“Achilles,” Patroclus tried, but the other man only barreled on, bringing their clasped hands to his chest, like if he let go Patroclus would vanish into thin air—turn to dust and be carried away on the breeze.

“I actually thought it was going to work, I thought--but they brought your _body_ back to me, Pat, there was so much blood, he took you from me, he killed you and I couldn’t, I _couldn’t_ \--” Achilles rambled, sobs racking him, grip on Patroclus tight enough to bruise.

“I’m here and we’re okay,” Patroclus vowed, own tears welling up at seeing his lover so upset. “I’m fine, I’m here.” Despite doctor’s orders, he climbed onto the small bed, hugging Achilles close to him, planting butterfly kisses on his cheeks, his nose, his lips. Anything to push that horrific dream far from his mind. Eventually Achilles calmed, though he retained a vice grip on Patroclus’s shirt, their legs tangled together.

“I loved you, Patroclus, so much...and all my love could never bring you home,” Achilles whispered.

“I would’ve stayed with you, _right_ there by your side. _You’re_ my home and I’ll be with you always,” Patroclus said, resting his forehead against Achilles’. The unspoken, _“dead or not”_ hung heavy in the air between them. “I love you.”

“I love you,” Achilles echoed, anger and pain giving way to bone deep affection for the man beside him. He didn’t think he’d tell Patroclus how the dream really ended--how he’d raged, killed and killed and killed until he was put down. Didn’t think he’d tell him that if that was their fate, that if they’d lived long ago, loved like they loved now, that he’d do it all again.

“No more fixing roofs by ourselves anymore, okay?” Patroclus asked, beginning to card his fingers through Achilles hair, watching as his eyes fluttered closed. Achilles laughed.

“No more fixing roofs by myself,” he affirmed, content to lie here for another eternity, forget his dream, and listen to Patroclus breathe--a ballad all its own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for the Tumblr prompt of Billie Eilish lyrics: "All my love could never bring you home."
> 
> As always, comments and feedback are greatly appreciated! :D


	3. Hypothetically...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Admit it!” Achilles shouted and Patroclus broke.

Patroclus did his best not to break into a flat-out sprint as he left the principal’s office. He could feel Achilles’ stare burning a hole into the back of his head, swore that he could feel it through the door as it shut behind him. He began to sweat, droplets beading along his hairline. Patroclus didn’t _mean_ to get him into trouble, he was only trying to be friendly and actually hold a conversation with the boy he’d been pining over since freshman year.

He’d never had the nerve to talk to him before––Achilles was head of the soccer team, the school’s golden boy, and Patroclus was an awkward, semi-permanent fixture in the library. They didn’t exactly run in the same circles. So, when he’d seen Achilles and Hector exchange a paper in the hallway before English, he thought it’d be the perfect ice breaker. As far as Patroclus knew, Achilles and Hector were best friends––he always saw them chatting between classes, heads bent toward one another in muffled conversation during gym.

As the teacher came around to collect that weekend’s report, Pat had asked Achilles if Hector had helped him study the material. Their teacher’s head whipped around so fast Patroclus was honestly surprised that it didn’t fly from her shoulders. Achilles, expression always so open (he basically radiated sunshine out of his _ass_ , Patroclus would say) shuttered in betrayal and outrage. “You studied with Hector?” the teacher asked, snatching Achilles’ paper from his hands. “I’ll be sure to be _extremely_ thorough on my read through.” With that she spun on her heel, leaving Patroclus to drown in the waves of anger rolling off a certain golden haired boy. If looks could kill, Patroclus’s body would be stuffed ten feet under the linoleum. He could hear Achilles practically grinding his teeth to stubs for the rest of the period.

Achilles shot out of his seat as soon as the bell rang, practically a force of nature as he stormed out of the room. Patroclus waited a whole two minutes before exiting, frantically sending off a flurry of texts to Briseis. He fucked up big time and he didn’t know how or why. _“Why does this happen every time you open your stupid mouth?”_ Patroclus thought.

Briseis: _Are you serious, Pat_

Patroclus: _He looked like he wanted to END ME_

Briseis: _DUDE OMG he and Hector have been cheating on assignments together all semester_

Patroclus: _What_

Briseis: _They’ve already gotten busted twice. Way to go, Snitchy Mc Snitch Pants_

Patroclus: _I had no idea omfg he hates me now, this is what I get for going after my dreams_

Briseis: _Tbh I’m surprised you didn’t know given how you’re literally his One Man Fan Club :p_

Patroclus: _hey can you just kill me pls_

*********

Patroclus was in his second to last class of the day, with every intention of never so much as breathing in Achilles’s direction again, when he was called to the principal's office. Something in him shriveled and died when he saw Achilles sitting in one of the two chairs, arms crossed and his scowl the stuff of legends. “Patroclus, please sit,” Odysseus said, smile kind but voice firm. Patroclus, now red as a tomato, clutched his backpack to his chest and took the offered seat. His heartbeat roared in his ears as Odysseus stared them down, rugged face particularly menacing in the fluorescents. “It’s been brought to my attention that Achilles and Hector were cheating on their schoolwork...again,” the older man stated. He sounded beyond exasperated, as if he’d keel over and die if Achilles was sent to his office just _one_ more time. “And it was also brought to my attention that you might know something about it.”

“ _What_?” Patroclus exclaimed, ashamed at how many octaves his voice managed to rise. Odysseus only raised one greying brow.

“You dropped a hint to the teacher--”

“I was just trying to make conversation,” Patroclus said, mortified.

“Why? We never talk to each other,” Achilles chimed in and suddenly both men were staring at him in abject disbelief. If the earth were to swallow Patroclus whole at this exact moment he’d welcome it with open arms.

“I just… I wanted to just, I don’t know, talk? We’ve been in so many classes together and I thought I’d, like, introduce myself,” Patroclus stammered.

“But I know your name,” Achilles said, skeptical. He was now turned towards fully towards Patroclus, knees a hairsbreadth away from brushing one of the brunette’s thighs.

 _“Zeus smite me now,”_ Patroclus thought. “Well, yeah, but like, actually introduce myself.”

“But why now?” Odysseus asked, and something in his expression was equal parts amused and delighted. It told Patroclus that Odysseus now knew _exactly_ why and he was just being a smug bastard.

“Because--” Patroclus said, at a loss for words. Every second that passed without an explanation only seemed to make Achilles angrier.

“Just admit that you wanted to rat us out,” he spat, leaning over into Patroclus’s space.

“I didn’t--”

“You did!”

“Achilles,” Odysseus warned, moving to stand and get between the two boys if necessary. Patroclus had begun to panic, heart hammering away in his chest.

“ _Admit it_!” Achilles shouted and Patroclus broke.

“Because I always thought you were really cool and I’ve wanted to get to know you since freshman year but I didn’t know how and soccer is soccer and you’re basically a god around here and I’m just in the library _all day long_ reading and I don’t even know if you like reading, because, well, _books_ and we don’t have any mutual friends so that wasn’t going to happen but I finally worked up the nerve to talk to you and now _this_!” Patroclus said, not pausing to take a breath until he’d finished speaking. Achilles only blinked at him, mouth agape. Odysseus looked like he’d pulled something vital in his effort not to laugh. Achilles continued to stare, expression morphing from surprise into something carefully neutral. Patroclus only sunk further into his seat, eyes locking onto the desk in front of him. He hoped it’d grow teeth and eat him alive.

Odysseus, breathing deeply through his nose, finally composed himself long enough to speak. “Okay… I guess you’re free to go, Pat,” he said, gesturing toward the door. Patroclus had never moved so fast in his life. He shot out of the chair and practically hit the door in his effort to escape.

 _“Shit, shit, shit, shit,”_ he thought, power walking down the hall. He couldn’t ever show his face at this school again. He’d practically told Achilles he liked him in one too many words and now Achilles was going to tell everyone else and he’d never live it down. Patroclus knew from the moment he’d laid eyes on him that a boy like that would never like him back. He was content to ogle Achilles for the rest of high school, maybe get in a comment or two at a soccer game, and that would be it. They’d go to different colleges and never speak again. So why had he decided to open his mouth today? _“That’s going to be the last time I ever take a risk, I’m going to live in a bubble,”_ he thought, rounding the corner. _“I’m going to wrap myself in bubble wrap and ship myself to an island in the middle of nowhere--_ ”

“Hey!” Patroclus almost tripped over his own feet at the shout. He turned to find Achilles storming down the hallway toward him, hands balled into fists at his side. Patroclus watched him approach for all of two seconds before breaking into a sprint. In hindsight, it wasn’t the smartest idea to try to outrun the captain of the soccer team. But Patroclus didn’t have a great track record with split second decisions. “ _Hey_!” Achilles called, and when had he gotten that close? Patroclus rounded another corner, backpack bouncing, before Achilles latched onto the collar of his shirt. He pulled him up short and swung him around into the front of a locker.

“You...” Achilles seethed, now holding Patroclus still by the front of his shirt. The younger boy squeezed his eyes shut and threw his hands up to shield his face because there was no way Achilles _wasn’t_ going to beat the everloving _shit_ out him in this hallway. “You...you really think I’m cool?” Patroclus’s sheer surprise at the question was enough to make his arms drop limply to his sides. He swallowed, trying to figure out if Achilles was kidding.

“...yeah,” Patroclus said, and Achilles looked off to the side, deep in thought.

“Since freshman year?” he asked, full attention back on Pat. His face was very, very close and Pat was momentarily lost in the green of his eyes.

“Since freshman year,” he confirmed, not entirely sure where this conversation was going. Achilles was quiet again, absentmindedly chewing on his bottom lip. Pat tried, and failed, not to stare.

“...me too,” Achilles finally murmured and Patroclus’s brain ground to a halt. There was a slight ringing in his ears before the whole world came flooding back and it was his turn to be angry.

“You waited this long to tell me!? Why didn’t you ever say anything?” Pat fumed, throwing his hands up in exasperation.

“Why didn’t _you_ ever say anything?” Achilles shot back, amusement and confidence growing as Pat spluttered in rage.

“Because you’re-- you’re _Achilles_ , you’re like the king of the school, no way was I gonna ask.”

“And you’re _Patroclus_ , the smartest, most clever kid to ever exist, no way was _I_ gonna ask.” Patroclus was pretty sure he was dreaming, like 98% sure, because Achilles just called him smart _and_ clever and could someone pinch him?

“Well, that was a huge waste of time,” Pat eventually muttered and Achilles nodded in agreement. They stood in silence for a few moments.

“So... you think I’m a god around here?” Achilles teased, the beginnings of a smile curling around the edges of his mouth.

“Of course that’s what you focused on,” Patroclus muttered. Achilles full on laughed at that, accidentally pulling Patroclus closer by the grip on his shirt. “Could you, uh,” Patroclus said, gesturing to the blonde’s hand. Achilles only smiled wider and it was so full of mischief Pat could almost taste it. “Please?” he bit out, giving him a glare of his own.

“Hypothetically,” Achilles said, releasing Pat’s shirt in favor of gripping a backpack strap, “if I asked you to, would you come to one of my soccer games?” Patroclus, now wholly consumed with prying Achilles’ fingers off of his backpack, answered automatically.

“I’ve been to all your soccer games,” he said, before realizing his mistake. But when he looked up, cheeks pink, Achilles smile had only grown. “I _know_ , but for once can you sit somewhere I don’t have to squint to see you?” he asked, releasing Pat’s backpack.

“Sure, but I don’t--” Patroclus began, before his brain caught up and Achilles’ words actually registered. “Wait, you--” Patroclus said, but Achilles was already sauntering off down the hallway.

“See you Friday, Pat!” Achilles said, shooting him one last shit eating grin over his shoulder.

“Wait what do you _mean_ ‘you know’? Hey! What do you mean ‘you _know_ ’? Achilles!” Patroclus shouted, before chasing after him. Achilles’ laughter, bright as the sun, echoed in the hall around them.


	4. Philtatos

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He couldn’t explain it, couldn’t tell anyone that it was so achingly familiar, somehow.

“I’m sorry,” Hector says, for what has to be the hundredth time. He’s sitting in the chair opposite of Achilles, head in his hands, knuckles little patches of white against his shorn hair. “I’m so sorry--” 

“We know,” Briseis snaps--it’s cold and sharp and Hector flinches inwards. Her bottom lip quivers, a stark contrast to the hard set of her jaw. She grasps one of Achilles’ hands, tries to reassure him. But his hand in limp in hers, his eyes laser focused on the doors at the end of the hallway. “He’s going to be okay,” she says, pulling her friend into a one armed hug.

Achilles doesn’t believe her. 

When Hector had torn into his dorm room, eyes wild and shirt covered in blood, Achilles  _ knew _ . As he followed Hector out into the Common and ripped through the gathering crowd to see Patroclus lying still on the pavement--he  _ knew _ . He couldn’t explain it, couldn’t tell anyone that it was so  _ achingly _ familiar, somehow--kneeling on the cement, crimson soaking through his jeans, and Pat cold to the touch under his shaking hands.

“I love you, I love you, I love you,” he murmured, more a plea than anything.  _ “I love you so you can’t leave me, Patroclus. You can’t leave, not yet, not like this.”  _ He’d learned on the way to the hospital that Paris had stolen some props from a local play--helmets, shields, and spears. He’d gathered everyone he could find and they’d started competitions out in the Common. Athena had practically begged Achilles to participate, especially once they started the spear throw.

“With  _ that _ arm? You could take anyone!” she said, but he’d laughed and brushed her off. He was writing his last essay of the semester and he knew that if he dropped it in favor of spear throwing Patroclus would never let him live it down. So, he went back to his studies and didn’t think of it again. 

From what he managed to piece together, Hector was aiming for a tree almost fifty yards away. Patroclus had walked in front of him, wasn’t looking in the right direction, and neither saw each other until the spear had left Hector’s hand. 

Achilles vaguely remembers screaming when the EMTs pulled him away to haul Patroclus into the ambulance. He knew how this story ended and there were flashes of memory, _ “don’t let him go”, “don’t go, Patroclus”  _ and  _ “please don’t take him from me.”  _ And even if the memories were old, the pain was new. It clawed its way through his chest, burning. Briseis had dragged him to her car, driven him to the hospital as he sobbed in the passenger's seat. 

“He’s strong,” she’d said, foot bearing down on the accelerator, hands holding the steering wheel in a vice grip. “He’s going to be fine, he’s stubborn just like you, it’s going to be okay.” Achilles couldn’t seem to get enough air into his lungs. He couldn’t shake the feeling that this was happening  _ again _ , couldn’t shake the guilt that if he’d just  _ been  _ there, gone outside when Athena had asked that this wouldn’t have happened at all. 

Now they are all huddled in the hospital’s waiting room as Patroclus enters his third hour of surgery. The odds aren’t good--he knew that much from the horror struck faces of the ER doctors as they’d wheeled Pat away.  _ “It almost went clean through,”  _ one woman had muttered, staring in awe at the wound. 

Achilles leaps up and starts to pace, feels like he’ll go crazy if he sits still for a moment longer. “We need to stay calm,” Briseis tries, but Achilles ducks away from her, feet leading him to the OR doors before he stumbles to a stop and turns in the other direction. An old woman looks up at him from her chair, wary as he stomps past. He goes in circles, bites his nails, has the urge to climb out of his own skin and he _can’t stand the_ _waiting_. 

“It was an accident,” Hector mutters, as Achilles brushes by, and something dark and ugly begins to well up in Achilles’ chest. He wants to overturn tables, slam through walls, shatter the glass partitions. He wants to break everything he can get his hands on--violently, irreparably. It’s like there’s water in his lungs, filling up his chest, crushing his heart back into his spine. He runs. 

“Achilles!” Briseis shouts, but in the span of a breath Achilles is clear across the waiting room and sprinting out of the hospital. 

_ “I didn’t even get to say goodbye,” _ he thinks, because he knows what this feeling is and he wants to outrun it. Believes for a fraction of a second that maybe he can, that if he’s fast enough he can outrun this day altogether. 

But another memory blindsides him and it bears Hector’s voice:  _ “And fate? No one alive has ever escaped it.” *  _ He makes it halfway across the parking lot before falling to his knees. He inhales, digs his fingers into the pavement. The sky’s gone a soft grey, like it’s going to snow and Achilles grips his chest with one hand, feels like the water’s rising into his throat, crushing its way down into his legs.  With a terrible clarity he knows what it means when his chest goes hollow--when it feels like everything inside of him has gone cold.

He blinks, stares at the bits of gravel beside his hands as the Empty overcomes him.  _ “I didn’t get to say goodbye,”  _ he thinks again, tears welling up anew. Briseis finds him a few minutes later, falls down besides him as she cries into his shoulder. 

“I’m so sorry,” she says and he hears Hector wailing in the distance.

“Patroclus,” he says, as snow begins to fall, floating down so beautifully before disappearing into the black of the asphalt. “Patroclus. Patroclus.” Over and over until it is sound only.*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1st *: A quote from Hector found in the Illiad   
> 2nd *: This is a line from TSoA that I've tweaked to fit the story (and who could end this story better than Madeline???) Original line: “Patroclus,” he says, “Patroclus. Patroclus.” Over and over until it is sound only.
> 
> I've written a lot of fluffy pieces for this pairing so of course I had to throw in some angst. It's literally just all angst, 2 whole pages of it. (Don't kill me pls and thanks for reading)!


	5. And It Was Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Patroclus had loved them, he’d loved them in spite of everything—prophecies, gods, and wars be damned.

Every wrench of the shovel into dry earth threatens to steal the breath from Achilles lungs. He breathes out harshly through his nose, afraid that if he opens his mouth he might start screaming.  Briseis sits nearby, where the dirt meets the sand, watching as it spills grain by grain into the water. She’s stiff, back tense; flinches every time the shovel hits home. They hadn’t spoken since the soldiers delivered the news, then the body—could hardly look at one another as the hours drug on and the grief set in.

The sea breeze ghosts in over the waves, salt catching and curling the ends of Achilles hair. It’s uncomfortably warm for an evening at the shoreline, his tears mixing with the sweat beading on his face. He pauses briefly in his work, thinks that if he stays still enough he can turn into a pillar of salt and crumble away into nothing. He glances again at Briseis, watches her shoulders start to shake, and banishes the thought.

He calls her over when it’s time, just her name whispered through gritted teeth. She holds Patroclus’s feet and Achilles cups the back of his head as they lower him into the ground. They situate the headstone, pray briefly for safe passage and then slowly refill the grave, handful by handful. 

It’s night when they finish. They shuffle their way to the beach and all but collapse, water washing over their feet and drenching the bottom of his pants; her skirt. Achilles picks at the dirt under his nails while Briseis scrubs at hers frantically in the water. Achilles thinks they’ll sit in silence until the sun rises when Briseis speaks.

“He loved me,” she eventually says, voice tight, and Achilles breath hitches as the ache blooms anew, endless and familiar.

“He loved me, too,” he says, reaching out to grasp her hand. Sand gets caught between their fingers, tiny pinpricks of pain, grounding. She finally looks up, and he watches her watch him, each looking for memories, for one last shred of the man they loved. She smiles, tears pooling in the small creases beside her lips.

“He was…love,” she replies, and Achilles thinks again of Patroclus, of gentle hands against bruised skin, quiet laughter in candlelit tents, warm body held close in a damp cave, his voice a balm on the truly terrible nights. He thinks of how the world fell away with every glance, how he wouldn’t have minded if it never righted itself—if they could’ve been caught in those moments, alone, for eternity. Patroclus had loved them, he’d loved them in spite of it all—prophecies, gods, and wars be damned. 

“He was everything,” Achilles whispers, voice breaking over the word. Briseis’s grip on his hand tightens, pulling him a fraction closer, and the grieving begins. They cry, side by side, the city burning to ash behind them, hearts beating steady and breath fluttering like caged birds in their lungs; the boy they loved laid in a shallow grave, cold to the touch.

Achilles mother eventually wades out of the sea, a specter on the opposite end of the beach. She doesn’t approach to pay her respects—simply stares, hands limp at her sides. For Achilles, it’s enough. 

Menelaus, Odysseus, and a dozen soldiers make their way to the grave at first light. They offer words of solace, promises of retribution. Achilles just smiles, locks eyes with Briseis where she stands off to the side. She still distrusts the men who’ve gathered, but she stays to hear them reminisce—committing every murmur of _Patroclus_ to heart. 

“You should speak,” Odysseus says, and all eyes turn to Achilles, “you knew him best.” Odysseus lays a large hand on his shoulder, expression open, and of course he _knew_ , Achilles realizes. Of course. Briseis comes to stand beside him and he’s grateful for the unspoken support. He clears his throat, rakes a hand through his hair. It takes a few minutes to find the right words.

“He was the best of friends—the best of men,” Achilles says. “He was kind and bright and sincere—honorable to a fault.” At this Achilles laughs, and a few others crack smiles. “He…he was selfless to a fault, too. It’s rare to find all of those things across ten men, let alone one. We wouldn’t be where we are today without him, _I_ wouldn’t be where I am today without him. He’s—he was so—” Achilles voice breaks off and he scrubs a hand down his face. 

Briseis reaches out, places a warm hand on his arm. Her palm is soft but it’s not the touch he craves. He takes a long breath and continues. “I’m eternally grateful to have known him. He was a hero, and that’s how he will be remembered, now and always. To Patroclus!” 

“To Patroclus!” The crowd echoes, before dispersing in smaller groups back down the beach.

“What now?” Briseis asks once they’re alone. They’re both looking out to sea again, bathed in the red light of the setting sun. 

“We go,” Achilles declares, and Briseis nods, resolute. 

“We go,” she says. Neither have a destination in mind when they take a ship and set sail that night. They travel, stopping wherever they’d like and where they can, trying to fill the absence in their own ways. It would never disappear—they knew they’d never wake up one morning, the ache gone, the memory of Patroclus no longer sharp against their hearts. But they’d learn to make room for it, together.

——————-

When they visit next spring there are flowers sprouting from the grave, vibrant and blooming. Beautiful and thriving and everything they strive to be for the boy that’d never get to be any of those things again. “We’ll be seeing you,” Briseis says, palm pressed into the cool earth. 

“One day,” Achilles murmurs, bending down to do the same, and far, far below, Patroclus smiles in the dark and reaches up toward the light. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay I know I promised something cute and wholesome, but I had this scene stuck in my head and had to write it! It diverges from TSOA and gives Patroclus and Achilles very different endings. Sorry (not sorry) for the angst!


	6. Yours

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “…I thought you were a dick,” he says, and Achilles laughs so hard he cries.

“Do you wish we’d never met?” Patroclus asks, legs swinging back and forth over the edge of the dock. He’s examining the trees on the opposite side of the lake with too much fervor, fingers digging in to the wood beneath him. He’s still afraid, after all this time, that Achilles might regret him; knows their relationship hadn’t made things easier with Achilles’ mother, Thetis. Knows that Achilles’ tutors were less than happy with the… _distraction_ he provided. 

Achilles startles at the question and looks over at Patroclus. His eyes trace his profile—following a bead of sweat as it trails from his hairline to slip along the strong underside of his jaw. Patroclus’ curls are swaying softly in the breeze, tickling his ears. Achilles stares for a long, long time. “It might have been easier,” he finally says with a shrug, glancing down at the water. His muddled reflection stares back, a smudge of golden paint against a dark canvas. He misses the way Patroclus’ shoulders hunch forward, brow furrowing. 

“Would… would that have been better?” Patroclus murmurs, eyes still locked on a point across the lake. He thinks of the fight he’d caused this morning between Achilles and Odysseus, his tutor all but forbidding him from spending a weekend at the lake. _“You’re not ready for finals and Patroclus won’t be able to stand in for you, smart as he is. You need to stay here and study, and if you even think about abandoning the team at practice I’ll have Hector hunt you down—”_ Achilles had hung up before Odysseus could finish his sentence. 

“Worse,” Achilles says, without an ounce of hesitation. He reaches over to grab Patroclus’ hand, unfurling his fist to intertwine their fingers. “Much, much worse.” Patroclus still worries, bottom lip caught between his teeth. 

“I don’t want—”

“I know,” Achilles states, heaving a sigh. He can perfectly recall each time they’ve had this conversation—spoken and unspoken. “Mother will come around once she truly gets to know you and I couldn’t care less about what the others think. I’ve never been theirs, never wanted much to do with them if we’re being honest.” 

“Always so honest,” Patroclus quips, and Achilles can hear the blush in his voice, glances over just in time to the faintest hue of rose red tint his cheeks. 

“But from the first moment I saw you, sitting alone in the dining hall, glaring at the mystery meat on your tray like it had mortally wounded you…I knew I wanted to be yours,” Achilles admits. “You’re all I’ve ever been sure about, Pat.” 

Patroclus sputters in embarrassment, blush deepening. “Really? _That_ was the moment you knew you liked me?” he asks, and all Achilles does is smile; closes his eyes and tilts his face up toward the sun. _“And a thousand moments after,” Achilles thinks._

“That’s the one,” he replies. Patroclus is silent for a beat. 

“…I thought you were a dick,” he says, and Achilles laughs so hard he cries.

“I know,” Achilles says and then Patroclus is laughing with him. Achilles start swinging his legs, toes grazing the water. It’s chilled, the perfect temp for a quick swim. He turns to say as much but then Patroclus’ mouth is on his and he can’t remember where he is or what he’d been about to say for the life of him. He can taste the lemonade they’d shared earlier, unerringly bitter where it’s dried in the fine creases of Pat’s lips. 

It’s just a peck but when Pat pulls away they’re both blushing, skin hot as the sun, staring everywhere but at each other. “I’m yours, too,” Patroclus says, looking down at their hands, still clasped tightly together. He runs his thumb against the underside of Achilles’ palm and his smile is back. “For as long as you’ll have me.” 

“Forever, then,” Achilles says, freeing his hand to wrap his arm around Pat’s shoulders. 

“Forever, then,” Patroclus echoes, before Achilles leans forward, all mischievous and joyous and golden, and pulls Patroclus with him into the deep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promised something fluffy so I hope this delivers! :)


	7. Call Me Goldie: Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Whatever was downstairs laughed again, louder, causing Patroclus to stomp angrily on the kitchen floor. “Shut up!” he shouted, placing his head in his hands.

“I didn’t summon a demon,” Patroclus said, bounding up from the basement and slamming the door behind him. Briseis glanced up from her book as Pat began to pace, hands clenched at his sides. She leaned back in the kitchen chair, pulling her book into her lap to get a better look at her friend. 

Patroclus had been trying out his new summoning spell all morning with little success. He’d nearly blown a hole through the living room floor and had to shoo away the neighbors with a tale of faulty fireworks. But he wasn’t...defeated, as he’d looked earlier. Irritated, yes, tired, absolutely, but he’d done _something_ down there. 

“Then what did you summon?” she asked, eyes snapping to the basement door at a sudden bout of laughter. Patrcolus tensed up further at the noise, a scowl emerging in the furrow of his brow. 

“An asshole,” he grit out, sinking down heavily into the chair beside her. Briseis let out a startled giggle, slapping a hand over her mouth as Patroclus turned to glare. 

“Like, do you now have two assholes or…?” 

Whatever was downstairs laughed again, louder, causing Patroclus to stomp angrily on the kitchen floor. “Shut up!” he shouted, placing his head in his hands. “He’s technically a demon, but he’s an _asshole_.” 

“...Were you expecting the demon to be nice?” Briseis quipped, only to earn another glare. Splotches of red began to sprout on Patroclus’ face and neck--she hadn’t seen him this mad since Paris invited him to his houseparty and only to lock him out before it started. 

“No, I wasn’t expecting it to be nice but I was expecting more...more gloom! More brooding! Some magic! Not--” 

“Not what, _Patty_?” a voice mocked from the doorway. Pat dropped his head onto the table with a thud and honest to god whined. Briseis examined the demon standing in the basement doorway--he was tall, about the same height as Patroclus, but he was bigger; wider. All muscle and sun-kissed skin. His hair rested just above his shoulders, golden. His eyes, red so dark they were almost black, met hers. He smiled. “Got any food?” 

“Leftover pizza in the fridge,” Briseis said, pointing behind her. 

“Score!” the demon said, hopping once in excitement before making a b-line for the opposite end of the kitchen. 

“ _Bri_ ,” Pat gasped, head snapping up and eyes wide with betrayal. 

“You know you weren’t going to eat it,” Briseis replied and Pat swatted at her. 

“I might’ve,” he mumbled, watching the demon basically inhale half a pie in a single breath. 

“Ok, you go with that. So...do you know his name?” Briseis asked, only to be interrupted by the demon in question plopping down into the chair to her left. 

“Nope, that would ruin our fun _wayyy_ too soon--I want to stick around with dear old Pat,” he said, and she could physically feel the effort Pat was exuding to not launch himself over the table to strangle a dead man. 

“Well, we need to call you something,” Briseis said, “and ‘Demon’ is going to get annoying.” 

“Goldie Locks,” Pat spit before the demon could reply. “You’re Goldie Locks, end of discussion.” 

“I didn’t just travel through time and space to eat cold pizza and be called Goldie Locks by a boy in a dinosaur t-shirt,” the demon ground out, smile blindingly bright, but cold. Pat stood, chair clattering to the ground, face almost as red as the demon’s eyes. 

“ _First_ of all, I’m a man,” Pat snarled, ignoring the demon's snort, “and second, it’s called ‘Jurassic Park’ you absolute heathen, and third: you’re Goldie Locks until you tell me your name and I can send you back.” 

The demon leaned back in his chair, scrutinizing Patroclus in silence. Briseis looked back and forth between the two, the pivoting making her dizzy. The demon took a deep breath, drummed his fingers against the table and then he was smiling again, all mischief. Pat glared even harder, crossing his arms as if that would keep all his apparent rage firmly inside. 

“Alright then, Pat...but just call me Goldie,” the demon said with a wink. Briseis swore that the noise Patroclus made was distinctly inhuman. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this is really short but I've had this idea for a while and wanted to post! :)

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone! I've decided to compile all of my Patrochilles shorts into one document. I love these two and Madeline Miller is an actual goddess for writing so beautifully. As always, comments/feedback are greatly appreciated. I hope you enjoy these angsty/funny/fluffy stories :)


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